Destiny
by Dagibsta
Summary: When war and destruction threatens Alagaesia once more, Eragon must make a decision to return to his homeland once more. However, when he returns, he discovers that nothing is the same, including a certain elf he loves...


Hello again to all my faithful readers! I am back with a whole new story called Destiny. Unlike some of my previous stories, this will be a traditional post-Inheritance fic, hopefully with a couple key differences that will reveal themselves later on in the story.

For those of you who are fans of my West Ilirea High School fic, I am working on the next chapter and will post it as soon as I can.

Thanks for reading, and please review with any comments or suggestions!

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Destiny

Chapter 1

* * *

Silence pervaded the night, only interrupted by the calm, consistent lapping of the waves against the wooden dock. High above the dark water towered the city walls, alit by orange flames spaced intermittently along its length. From inside the walls, boisterous voices and laughter escaped, the sound of peace and friendship.

Placidly, a soldier strode along the top of the wall, watching and waiting. However, the soldier and his comrades were complacent and confident: there was no threat to the city. Peace had pervaded all of Alagaesia for nearly 50 years, since Eragon Kingkiller had toppled the throne of the Black King.

Even without the knowledge, guidance, and supervision of the Riders, the land and its peoples had flourished. Slowly, the various races and nations had rebuilt, achieving a glory and prosperity unrivaled by past centuries.

It was this state of mind that now occupied the watchmen. Half asleep, the young soldier trudged along, paying no mind to his surroundings. Suddenly, a light in the distance caught his attention. It was so small initially that the soldier mistook it for a star. High above the sea, the ball of flame grew. Squinting and leaning against the wall, the guard tried to discern what the strange object was. With a start, he realized that the fiery mass was quickly moving towards his position. However, his realization came too late.

The flaming ball, actually made of stone and metal, crashed into the wall, just below the soldier's position. Massive chunks of stone exploded upon impact, and a twenty foot wide section of stone collapsed, upon which the guard stood. Immediately, a rift formed sucking the soldier into the abyss below, as his last scream resonated in the tacit night sky.

Hearing the commotion, several more guards ran outside, just in time to see the sky lit up by scores more missiles, and for the first time, glimpsed the hundreds of warships in the harbor.

The city was under attack.

* * *

With a huge gasp, Eragon shot straight up in his bed, pulled from his violent waking dreams. Clutching a hand to his heart, he allowed his ragged breathing to slowly normalize. Cold sweat covered his body, evidence of his troubled mindset. After a minute of recuperation, Eragon arose from his bed, looking straight into the gaze of two enormous sapphire eyes.

_Again?_ voiced Saphira mentally, inspecting her Rider thoroughly.

_It was different this time. It felt... almost real_, replied Eragon, letting his memories and emotions flow through their mental link, sharing his dream with Saphira.

_We should consult the Eldunarya_, the dragon urged, worried by the vision.

_I will,_ Eragon reassured. _But not now._

Quickly, Eragon pulled on his attire: simple for a leader of his stature. He wore only light brown trousers and a white tunic, a mix between Elven and human styles. His finger was adorned with the ring Aren, and a sapphire necklace hung from his neck.

Striding to the open window, Eragon peered out upon his kingdom. From his vantage point at the top of the mountain, combined with his elven senses, he could see almost every inch of his territory. Already, people had arisen, and begun their daily chores, and the chorus reached Eragon's pointed ears.

For a second, Eragon allowed himself to admire the beauty of New Vroengard. In the distance, the Ramr River wound its way through the plain, fed by the mountain streams that emerged from the peak of Du Fell Skulblaka, the Mountain of the Dragons. At its highest peak laid the magnificent hall of the Riders. Constructed entirely of marble and stone, the structure stretched down the mountainside for many hundred feet. Its halls were large enough to house thunders of dragons with ease. Accessible only by dragon, it was the perfect stronghold.

Upon the base of the mountain stood the village. For many years, the sole inhabitants of Vroengard had been Eragon, the elves, and the dragons. However, this slowly changed. From the east they had come, seeking refuge and protection from forces unknown. This Eragon had granted them, allowing them to erect a beautiful village among the forests that covered the slopes of the mountain and the outlying plains.

Scores of miles away, in the distance, stood the outline of another mountain, the sister of Du Fell Skulblaka. Equal in size, this was where the wild dragons had chose to make their new home. Just as the wild dragons had no names, so too did their fortress. Wild forests covered the landscape for miles on end, around and between these two mountains, providing an ample food supply for both the dragons and the smaller inhabitants of New Vroengard. However, this forest was much different from the elves' Du Weldenvarden. Where the elves had thick pine trees, New Vroengard was inundated with lush, deciduous trees that were light green in color.

After a long moment of inspection, Eragon turned away from the window and jumped onto Saphira's back. _Let's go_, he urged.

Saphira needed no further encouragement. Instantly, she threw herself towards one of the walls. However, instead of colliding with stone, she sailed straight through. It was a contraption very similar to the top of Helgrind: to the outsider, the wall was made of solid rock. It did keep out the wind, rain, and cold; however, it was anything but solid.

Rapidly, Saphira dove down the mountain, towards the training grounds that had been carved into the side of the cliff. As they landed, Eragon inspected the duels that had already begun. Several elder Riders and elves watched as their pupils fought each other. One such Rider was Yaela, one of his original Elven bodyguards. Less than a year after their arrival, a silver dragon by the name of Stryka had hatched for her, propelling her into the ranks of the Rider. Over the past 50 years, she had become one of Eragon's closest friends, as well as an extremely powerful individual.

Drawing Brisingr, he strode towards her. _It's time to give our students a little treat_, he chuckled to Saphira. As Yaela saw him approaching, she gave a musical laugh. Next to her, Blodhgarm's fur bristled with amusement. Yaela gave a sharp nod, signaling her approval.

Saphira let loose an ear splitting roar, immediately suspending all ongoing duels. Upon realizing what was happening, all of the Riders formed a circle around Eragon and Yaela, eager to watch what was sure to be an epic duel.

Sparks flew down the lengths of both Brisingr and Yaela's sword as they blunted the edges of the blades. Once this was done, they both assumed their stances, examining the other. Both had been instructed under the tutelage of Glaedr, and so both knew what the other was trying to do.

Finally, they both sprung into action at the same time. Their blades clashed in an explosion of sparks. Immediately, they snapped their swords back, as Eragon parried a swipe by Yaela at his legs. Eragon was making a lunge of his own when the duel was suddenly interrupted.

"Master!" yelled one of his students, who was descending on the scene upon his dragon. "Queen Nasuada seeks an audience!"

Without hesitation, Eragon leapt back from the duel, worried at this new development, in light of his recent dream. Leaping onto Saphira's back, he turned back to Yaela and Blodhgarm. "Retrieve Glaedr and Umaroth, and meet me in the Room of Mirrors." With that, Saphira leapt into the air, her powerful leg muscles rippling from the exertion.

Soaring through the cold, thin air, the pair headed to Eragon's private study. Saphira dove in through an archway, disguised in the same manner as Eragon's bedroom. Eragon quickly dismounted, and pushed open an oak door at the back of the room. As he entered, he was met with several images of himself.

The entire room was covered with mirrors, for the purpose of scrying with the leaders of Alagaesia. When a mirror was in use, the others would automatically become opaque, allowing for additional concentration. However, the mirrors had gone largely unused in the last four decades. Communication with the races of Alagaesia had almost completely subsided.

Eragon's communication the Queen of the Elves, Arya Dröttning, was even worse. Only when there was a crisis or emergency would the elves scry Eragon, and even then, one of Arya's advisors, such as Dathedr, would complete the task. Eragon's eyes had only glimpsed Arya on exactly one occasion since his abrupt departure 50 years earlier. And yet, his feelings for her had not changed in the slightest. If anything, they had grown more intense with the miles of separation between them.

Drawing upon his energy reserves, Eragon muttered, "Draumr kopa." Seconds later, an image of an aging woman was visible on the center mirror. Her dark, once vibrant skin was now sagging and covered in wrinkles. Eragon was shocked at first, but he hid his emotions well. He was still coming to grips with his immortality, compared to the frail mortality of many of his friends and loved ones.

"Queen Nasuada, it has been a long time," Eragon said warmly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Nasuada wasted no time bantering words. "We need you," she said bluntly.

This caught the Rider's attention immediately. "What has happened?" he inquired worriedly.

"Narda has fallen," she stated. "They came from the sea, in warships by the score," she added in a grave tone.

This new revelation overwhelmed Eragon momentarily. Images from his dream flashed through his mind, images of fire and destruction. "Do you not have an army to fight them off?" he asked.

Nasuada coughed, before replying in a hoarse voice. "Yesterday a contingent of 20,000 soldiers arrived at Narda. Less than 12,000 survived. Their magicians overwhelmed our defenses and wreaked havoc."

Eragon was alarmed at this statistic. "Where were the elves?" he demanded.

"There were four and eighty elves that fought in the battle. Less than half survived."

If Eragon was troubled before, it was nothing compared to the worry he felt now. "The Riders must return," urged Nasuada. "They need a leader that will lead them into the fray of battle, not a frail old woman than can barely arise from her throne."

"Where is Arya Drottning? Is she not fit to command these men?" demanded Eragon, curtly, the authority seeping into the very tone of his voice.

Nasuada's dark brown eyes avoided the piercing gaze of Eragon. Staring at the ground, she replied, "Arya cannot, her people have their own troubles. No, it must be you."

Turning his back to Nasuada, he ran a hair through his short hair and weighed his options. "You do not know how much you ask of me," he muttered to Nasuada. "But I will consider what you have asked. I must first consult the dragons, however."

Nasuada nodded in annoyance. "Please, do not abandon us," she pleaded.

Eragon made no response, but merely said, "I will contact you as soon as I have come to a decision." He turned to leave, but added, "And Nasuada, stay safe."

With that, he ended the spell, turning to face Yaela and Blodhgarm, who stood in the doorway with the Eldunarya of Glaedr and Umaroth.

_What trouble has arisen?_ spoke the deep voice of Umaroth in Eragon's mind. As a response, Eragon let his recent memory flow into the consciousnesses of the two Eldunarya.

_This brings much cause for worry, indeed, _Glaedr boomed.

"That is not all," foreboded Eragon. Without hesitation, he showed the dragons and the elves his dream from the previous night, overwhelming them with images of war and destruction. When he had finished, the elves and the dragons, including Saphira, stared at him, waiting for his reaction and advice.

Finally, Eragon released a breath he did not realize he had been holding. Filling his lungs again, he began. "We cannot go. It is too dangerous."

He had expected to be met with shouts of resistance and disagreement. Instead, only a wave of silence greeted him. Finally, his oldest friend, Blodhgarm, spoke.

"We cannot abandon our peoples to the fate that we all know awaits them. No, my friend, they need us," he eloquently uttered.

Next to him, Yaela added, "I know why you are reluctant to return. But Eragon, we cannot allow prophecies to dictate how we live our lives! Destiny may show you which path to take, but only you can walk down the path. You have a choice!"

Eragon shook his head slowly, pondering their advice. "Over these last 50 years, I have grown. I am no longer the young Rider who struggled to find his way. No, the prophecy is not what stands in my way."

The dragons, who had been silent for several minutes, entered the discussion once more. _Eragon, your family lives in the light of peace. A storm is brewing, threatening to destroy that peace and your loved ones with it. Would you leave them to this?_ Glaedr questioned.

"I cannot fight a war on two fronts!" Eragon exclaimed suddenly, as if the anger and frustration inside him had erupted like a dormant volcano. "If I leave, my people here at Vroengard, and all of Alagaesia, will be vulnerable from the East! The leaders of Alagaesia do not know the danger they face, do not understand what we have sacrificed to keep THEM safe. But still they ask more!"

_Eragon, calm yourself_, Umaroth urged. _I know it is hard, but you must trust your students. For so long, you have borne this burden yourself, of repelling the invasions that threaten to overtake Alagaesia. But no one does it alone. For once, trust your students. They are strong and brave. They will not allow Vroengard to fall. _

Eragon took several deep breaths, allowing the anger to slowly subside. Indeed, the last 50 years had changed him and Saphira. They had become stronger, weathered by the hardship they had endured. But they were not devoid of feeling. Rather, they cared deeply for all their people and students. He knew that their time had come to prove themselves.

After a moment, Eragon admitted his mistake. He had been especially cautious to not become too proud, but to always listen to the counsel of others. It was another sign of his increased maturity.

"Very well. I will return to Alagaesia. Yaela, you and Relyer will accompany me as well. The rest of the Riders will remain here, watching for an attack from the East," instructed Eragon.

Relter was a human Rider, who had joined the ranks nearly 20 years ago. Despite that, he was still very young, only in his mid thirties. Nightmares from his horrific past still troubled him, something that Eragon had tried to aid him with. Relter's dragon, a shade of midnight black, was the first black dragon to enter the world since the death of Shruikan. As a pair, the two had excelled, pushing the limits of their human strengths to the very edge.

_Glaedr, will you accompany us as well_? implored Eragon wordlessly.

_Of course, youngling_, rumbled Glaedr's deep mental voice.

_Umaroth, I would like you to stay here with my pupils_, requested Eragon. _Keep them safe._

_You have my word. Nothing malevolent shall befall them. _

Satisfied with his planning, Eragon turned back to the mirrors, ready to inform Alagaesia of the momentous news: the return of the Riders.

"Draumr kopa," he whispered softly, as the photons of light began to rearrange themselves into recognizable images upon the mirror. Soon, an apparition of Nasuada was once again standing before them. She did not say a word, but stared expectantly at Eragon, awaiting his decision. Finally, after a sigh, Eragon straightened his shoulders, and assumed his full height, as he spoke boldly and confidently.

"We shall return."


End file.
